More of this Feature • From NYC to the Land Down Under • Trading books & exploring the poetry scene • The Book Report

Related Articles:  International Poetry Travels • Little Planet Poetry Guide (US tour by UK poet) by Tim Gibbard • Lyrik am Lech Festival Diary by Jerry Quickley • The Women of Eritrea: Fighters & Poets by Bob Holman • All Together Now: Touring Switzerland with Le Cirque Electrique by Margery Snyder • The First International Poetry Olympics by Gary Glazner • Frankfort Buchmesse by Bob Holman

Elsewhere on the Web • OZPoet events calendar, “the definitive gateway to contemporary Australian poetry” • Article on Australian poetry from the Australian government's Culture and Recreation Portal • Jacket, our favorite poetry Web zine, published from Sydney • Australia poetry events listings & Australian poetry magazines at The Poetry Kit (UK) • About Australia/New Zealand for Visitors

My first introduction to the poets in Melbourne was at the cocktail party held on Friday, to boost awareness of the New Voices conference and the slam. I arrived after making a trip into the city to buy a jacket and scarf. (Don’t forget, the seasons are opposite on the other side of the equator! I left the beginning of a swampy New York summer to fall squarely in a crispy Australian autumn.) And when I walked in, the room was bustling.

There were bush poets, who are the Australian equivalents of the American Cowboy poets: wonderful storytellers with a gift for rhyme, a hankering for humor and the most wonderful hats.

There were the visual poets, who brought amazing books to trade, some made of metal, and other books so small that they fit inside a match box.

And then, there were my Australian counterparts, the spoken wordsters. And let tell you about the spoken word scene in Australia: First off, the poets are tall. I mean, really, really tall, and for the most part willowy. They kept referring to me as “petite,” which was a first for me ever, and I kept thinking: “Sign me up for immigration.” But the most outstanding quality of these poets was what we in New York would call their “chutzpah.” They were all self-aware, self-possessed and, most importantly, self-published.

I got better acquainted with the Aussie poetic community at the lecture the following Sunday and during the poetry slam I hosted on Tuesday. The slam, which began with eight slammers (four male & four female), showcased a wide array of styles. Phil Orton, a Chicago-bred expatriate, had a smoky, Tom Waits-like style. Skinny, chain-smoking Steven Smart reminded me of a younger, taller John S. Hall, with a Beau Sia haircut. Alicia Sometimes (whom you’ll hear more about later) was a rugged Patti Smith who, in the first round, talked about her dad grabbing his crotch in front of missionaries. And my favorite poem of the night, which was just two lines repeated again and again and again, was done by the lovely poet-cum-dj, Emilie Zoey Baker.

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